How terrible to feel that one has conquered a fear only to confront it again reincarnated even larger. My phobia of sharing control of my work with others continued to haughtily rule. Ignoring, pretending, masking made no difference. Ego? So what, go ahead and judge, cast your stone!

When I lock a piece of steel into my vise and with great effort begin pounding and bending it into the skeletal shape outlining a new sculpture I, and only I, am in control? That was my thought when I chose to experiment with resin and clay as the new medium of work. Heretofore bronze had birthed an artist of sharing. But flirting with this new arrival reignited old jealousies tossing me into a fever of creativity. Now I, and only I was responsible if one of my dancers misinterpreted my directions. Although the process devoured time equally, I sweated almost as much as the dancers.

I was floored with the final choreography. In fact I hardly believed the result. This was definitely my work, no one had even seen it let alone touched it, until its premiere. The poetry still destroyed and pleased. Yet it was obvious that some invisible hand had been at play. I knew this for certain the first time someone accidentally tipped one over and it smashed to pieces at his feet. This new work was delicate and destructible just like me.